vived, after having been subjected to a considerable amount of Bowdlerization-if I may use such a word-only to show that, in rare instances, they can hope to attain any lasting favour on the English stage. And many blasé playgoers denounce the slightest approach to the dramatic exhibition of human passion as "rubbish " on the part of the author, and "rant" upon the part of the actor. Then, too, we have the fact that many of the popular authors of the day do not even pretend to any great degree of literary excellence; and their plays, which are successful enough when produced upon the stage with all the accessories of stage effect, and the advantages of excellent acting, are found to be commonplace and devoid of literary merit when read at home. We are also bound to admit that too large a proportion of our actors and actresses are persons of only a moderate degree of education, and their otherwise able performances are too often rendered ludicrous by a total ignorance of the manners and customs of the ladies and gentlemen whom it is their duty to represent upon the stage. The same fault is to be found with some of our modern dramatists. In the late Mr. Robertson's

traction of the modern theatre. What hope for the drama, it is asked in despair, when a West-end theatre, that started with fair promises of good comedy, and pieces written with considerable literary ability, finds that its well-meant attempt does not pay, and falls back upon an absurd travestie of one of the Waverley Novels, illustrated with what are called "topical" songs?

What hope indeed! The question is hard to answer, no doubt; for it seems at times as if the public deliberately set its face against everything but the ephemeral productions of the burlesque writers, and resolutely determined not to encourage those authors who had hoped for better things, and who had conscientiously and energetically set themselves to the task of writing plays of a more ambitious kind than is achieved by the translation of a French melodrama, or the dramatic adaptation of a childish fairy tale. Perhaps, however, our surprise will cease when we have regarded the actual position of the drama at the present day in connection with the existing managerial systems, and when we read such advertisements as these:

to believe that it is the habit of the aristocracy, after a late dinner, to stroll about the garden of a London square, some persons being in evening costume, and others not. I could multiply instances of such incongruities and mistakes; and such faults ought not to occur when the drama is presented to us as an illustration of the times in which we live.

Then, too, a further proof of the decadence of the drama is adduced by the prevailing demand and supply of burlesques, in which pretty faces, shapely limbs, arch manners, and a tolerable voice are the recommendations of the female performers; and a talent for nigger dancing and pantomimic comic business is the great quality to be sought for in the male. Permit the author - or perhaps I should say the compiler-to run wild among nursery tales and rhymes, or standard novels, wherever his imagination-or want of imagination-may lead him, torturing the English language, as he goes, for the purpose of making wordjingles that pass for puns; fit the whole indescribable construction into a pretty framework provided by the scene-painter and carpenter, and you have the principal at

ing, but no nonsense, &c.

RAMAS, COMEDIES,

BURLESQUES,

by a Dramatic Author of recognised talent. For terms, Press Opinions, &c.

Why is it that so few dramas are produced which are likely to make any mark among the literary successes of the present age; and why is it that those dramatists are very few, and very far between, who can hope that their writings will outlive the generation?

I believe the reason to be that those who ought to be foremost in the dramatic field— those whose genius and culture mark them out for standard authors-will not devote their energies to writing for the stage, because they will not be trammelled by existing systems, and they decline to write down to the present level of the stage.

It is not from such a writer that the manager expects the article which is to satisfy the public, and replenish the treasury. He avoids experiments, and gives his order to an experienced manufacturer. The professional dramatic author has to write with a view to a particular theatre, and for certain actors. There was a time when the actor was fitted to the part, but now the part must be fitted to the actor-and not for one, but

for all the principal members of a company. At once the author's imagination is fettered, and his pen arrested. Instead of his ideal characters before his eyes, he has perpetual visions of Miss Petowker, Miss Snevellicci, Mr. Folair, and the other members of Mr. Crummles's company; and by their powers, and the peculiar line of each, he must measure the creatures of his brain. Besides which, an author nowadays must be an actor too—that is, it is not by any means sufficient that he should aim at producing a play in which the finest subtleties of human character and passion are developed, or in which psychological phenomena are cleverly portrayed. All this, indispensable to a certain extent as it may be, is not enough. For it is imperatively necessary for the success of a modern drama that the author should have practical acquaintance with the stage; should thoroughly understand the meaning of the word "situation;" and, at the cost of no matter how great the literary sacrifice, he must bring down his curtain well. Moreover, he must know what to avoid. He must subdue his minor characters, however necessary they may be to the plot; keep them as much as possible in the shade, and be very careful as to the work he gives them to do, as he knows that, in all probability, they will be played by minor actors whose prominence would be simply fatal to the piece, and whose ignorance and incompetence might reflect upon the author more, perhaps, than on themselves. The author, in short, has to bear in mind that he must carefully write up two of the characters, or three at the most, and leave all the rest to take care of themselves.

And this point brings me at once to what I have no doubt is in your minds, and has long been one of the worst diseases with which the stage is infected-I mean the Star system. What author does not shudder at the anticipation of his best pieces being played at a theatre where there are to be found, perhaps, two persons who, by means of a reputation awarded to them by a certain class of critics, and who have been successful in gaining some sort of position in public estimation, have received tolerably lucrative engagements in the provinces to perform certain parts which they have played at firstclass London theatres? So long as they draw a full house, and get their meed of applause and complimentary notices in the local journals, it appears to be a matter of

indifference to them how the author's intentions are carried out, or how the other characters are cast. Who is there that has not felt ready at times to weep at the spectacle of some star playing Hamlet or Macbeth, supported by a crowd of incompetent actors and actresses who do not understand a word of what they are saying, and who are totally incapable of appreciating the genius they are so offensively familiar with?

When will they learn that, whatever Hamlet may be to the student in the closet, he is next to nothing on the stage if the qualifications of the actor are limited to a well-toned voice, a careful study of traditional representation, and a pointed elocution? Hamlet is a thinking soul, not a gentleman who gives readings; and when he is represented on the stage we cannot forget that he is in company with his father, Ophelia, Horatio, his mother, his uncle; and if these characters are to be played anyhow, so long as the star can exhibit his notion of what Hamlet ought to be, it would be better if Hamlet were omitted altogether. It is, however, a welcome fact that comedy companies appear to be eclipsing the stars; and if such errant troops are well managed, and will only consent to work heartily together, I think there is every reason to believe that they will prove of the greatest benefit to the drama-loving public.

For it is undoubtedly of the greatest importance that actors should be accustomed to each other; and I cannot help stating my opinion that one of the worst features of modern stage management is the perpetually shifting nature of the company at any given theatre-with one or two notable exceptions. It is the custom now, on the production of a new play, to inform the public that for the two leading parts Mr. Blank and Miss Dash have been specially engaged. The piece is brought out, runs its destined course, and a new play is advertised as being in rehearsal, but Mr. Blank and Miss Dash are conspicuous by their absence from the cast. search the columns of the theatrical journals, and discover that that particular lady and gentleman, having been engaged for the run of that particular piece, will be at liberty as soon as it is withdrawn from the bills. One does not require a very intimate acquaintance with the theatre to feel convinced that such a system must be thoroughly bad. It is urged, I am aware, that a particular engagement is insisted on by the author. No doubt this is so; but whatever the author

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